


Class Synergy

by iniquiticity



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Older Man/Younger Man, Overwatch - Freeform, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity
Summary: It was not only their gameplay which melded so well that George would not have not believed it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [triedunture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/gifts).



> happy birthday to a beautiful, funny, incredible, fantastic, extraordinarily talented person and also an amazing friend. teej is the best and i'm glad you're in my life, dad. <3
> 
> also thanks to jay shing who told me all about overwatch. mvp.

"Well, now that we have sufficiently proved that I am without a doubt the most murderous Zenny to have ever walked the Earth, I have to go to bed," crackled Alex's voice into his ear. George rolled his eyes and pulled off the headset, switching the audio from his speakers, so it played in conjunction with the _Victory!_ information screen's background music. Then, through the speakers: "My therapist gets mad if I go to bed immediately after playing video games so I need to have reading time."

"What are you reading?" asked Lafayette's slightly tinny voice. George flopped back into his chair, took a breath and then polished off his beer. Alex in New York, him here in Virginia, and even so Lafayette religiously got up and played with them from France, midnight to 6AM where he lived. He was some kind of rich person and didn't have to work, but he was elusive about it with them. George didn't ask.

"The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People," Alex answered, "Not like any other rich person has ever had to read this damn book. Positive thinking, blah blah."

"Let's drop down to the casual channel, George. Then I'm going to go away from my keyboard for a couple minutes to get some stuff done," Lafayette said, to him this time. Alex's snicker sounded like static in his speakers.

He picked up his headset, where the microphone was. "Sounds good."

"Make sure you clean up your tissues after you're done, boys," Alex teased.

"Ha ha," George deadpanned, and Alex laughed again.

"Sweet dreams," he said, and George’s computer played the sign-off noise, and then the _bloop-bloop_ of Lafayette changing channels in their server. He dropped down to their aptly named Non-Gaming/Casual channel and walked over to the kitchen to get himself another beer.

A year since he'd started playing Overwatch, on the recommendation of one of Friedreich's friends - _it's an easy way to burn stress, you'll like the teamwork of it, there's stuff to keep your mind occupied, and it feels real good when you win_. First him and Alex ( _bstrdorphan_ , and he'd never asked, and Alex never talked about it) stumbling across each other, Alex's wild Zenny clearing out the way for him - fast where he was slow, rash where he was strategic, the most selfish and aggressive bodyguard he could think of. He couldn't remember what had bonded them, looking back. There was something about the kid - well, age-appropriate gamer - where he always seemed too old for the crude language, brash anger and simplistic strategy - that had been past his years and brilliant. And Alex had liked him too, that he lumbered along in-game as Reinhardt with his hammer, not asking questions, defending him when he needed it. Alex had gently ridiculed him for being attached and claimed himself too defective to be liked, but perhaps something in the self-deprecating humor about the overworked manager had pulled George, who knew very much what it was like to not be appreciated, even closer. So that had been then.

And then months later, Lafayette had queued into one of their games. Lafayette had been so bright when most of the people who played this game were dark. When George had picked Reinhardt, Lafayette had been delighted in chat. _I know just the thing!_ and selected Ana. Even Alex had not complemented him in game the way Lafayette had, even on day one. More than his gameplay had been his witty chat additions, and George had said in their private voice-chat that the three of them did well together - Lafayette's Ana freeing up Alex's Zenny to run off on his desired murderous in-game rampages.

Alex had chatted Lafayette, and Lafayette had provided them his username, which matched his Overwatch name - _marquisdeimp -_ and after a little chat about what they would do if he was a freak, invited him to their server.

"Gilbert, but really Lafayette is much better," he had introduced himself as, "Mournfully, Marquis de Impressionnant is too many letters." He had the same cheer that George had sensed through the game, and a movie-perfect French accent to boot.

"Marquis de Imp covers you well enough," Alex had said, and at first George had been worried, for Alex could be plenty dislikable when he wanted, but Lafayette laughed.

"And what's that say about you, bastard orphan?" he'd shot right back, and for a second George's fear heightened further, for he was pretty sure it was a very sore spot for his friend.

"That we both have much better creativity in thinking of screennames than George," Alex had responded.

"If I’m a boring old man bothers you, you can find someone else's server to leech off of," George had replied. They had laughed, and that had been the beginning of the three of them, him as Reinhardt and Lafayette as his Ana and Alex free to appear in and out of their strategies, jumping from one character to another depending on what he felt like on that particular day. Lafayette's cheerful consistency was a good balance for Alex's chaos, and matched well with his own tendency towards steadiness and routine; Lafayette never asked to play something else or if they wanted to take some other strategy, and their plans always worked, and became honed to a tee.

It was not only their gameplay which melded so well that George would not have not believed it. Lafayette always asked about how his day had been, about his victories and successes, and complimented him on whatever he spoke about. Lafayette talked idly about his life, and through this George learned more about this person he felt compelled but odd nonetheless to call his friend - Lafayette was some kind of rich heir to some company, and as a result he conducted his business at whatever hours he wanted, almost completely through email. He did not have to work but liked it. He had been playing so early at their chance meeting because he couldn’t sleep, but then it became his regular routine. He was based in 'Nowhere, France,' he like to call it, but spent a fair bit of time in Paris, and all over.

It was hard to explain in how many different ways that George had never had a person like Lafayette in his life. There was the bit that Lafayette treated his own life like a thing where he could do anything and be anyone, if he wanted. George had never had it terribly hard, but he worked for what he had, and sometimes it irked him, that Lafayette woke up when he wanted, went where he pleased, and bought what he liked. He had brought it up, once, when they were talking about nothing.

'You don't have to work either, if you want, you know," Lafayette had said. George had been talking about the recent tear that the board had gone on against him. Of course it was his fault there was a budget, and competitors, and some shit happening in Saudi Arabia, which had caused their profits to drop. Naturally, he could stroll right into Saudi Arabia and have them modify their behavior.

"Of course I have to work," George had replied.

"No, I mean, you really do not," Lafayette had said, and more seriously this time, "If you want you could come to France and live with me. Well, not with me, if you didn't want. But you know, I could find you something to do here."

He was silent for a while.

"It isn't a joke," Lafayette had said, quietly.

"I am not going to be your...sugar baby," George replied, and he hardly knew what he sounded like, because the idea that someone would pay him to do ... what? --- seemed more repulsive than appealing.

"I won't bring it up again," Lafayette said, but teasingly. But he hadn't, either, and they had just talked about life, easy in a way George usually couldn't be, with people. Their conversations went from voice chat to FaceTime, with George showing Lafayette around his apartment, and Lafayette taking George on little adventures through downtown Paris, with his accompanying soundtrack of French and English.

"Which do you think I should buy?" Lafayette would ask him on his lunchbreak, comparing pocket squares. They both had a discerning eye for fashion, and it was a useful place for his opinions.

It was easy to be close with Lafayette, who confessed his own kind of loneliness. George had never had someone listen to him without even the faintest hint of judgement. Instead Lafayette was unreservedly affectionate, almost more than he could deal with it. Lafayette often called him a mixed bag of French endearments and made sure he was drinking enough of water and suggested whatever tea he thought would be most helpful for George’s ailments. He had needled George's address out of him and sent him gifts of varying usefulness and value. He had sent George a box of tea that barely fit in George's designated tea area in his kitchen, and then a watch that cost more than George made in months, and occasionally some particular tie or something. When he was feeling down, that Lafayette was there was one of the few things that cheered him up, and their mostly-nightly Overwatch sessions - sometimes with Alex and sometimes without - quickly and without question became the best part of his day.

So his best friend was thousands of miles away and half his age. Well, everyone always thought he could use more friends, and now he had some. Take that, he thought, to no one.

"Are you still there, _mon cheri_?" Lafayette crackled across his speaker. George reached down and put his headset back on - his friend felt closer that way.

"That I am," he answered, getting comfortable in his worn computer chair. "How's the office?"

"I went on a date yesterday," Lafayette said.

George's stomach revealed at that moment a massive ball of anxiety, like a magic trick. He felt his pulse speed up. It was an unfair and awful reaction to have, and he immediately hated it, more so than he thought he should. He certainly had no claim to Lafayette, especially from thousand miles away. And the man was half his age. And---

"Don't you want to know how it went?" Lafayette prompted, and here George realized that he had been too silent, for too long. Given himself away? What did it Lafayette think? He had no right to be -- to be anything.

"Yeah," he answered, and forced himself not to sag in his chair. It was not -- this was not the time, and furthermore nothing about it was possible, nevertheless likely. Lafayette was his friend and anchor, and he was Lafayette's judgement-free listening post. To take it further, regardless of an awry dream or whiskeyed thought, was a betrayal of the trust of the one he cared for too much. "How’d it go?"

"Awful," Lafayette said, and laughed, and all the tension broke, and George tried to keep his laughter less relieved than it was. "God, he was the worst. First of all, the shirt was terrible. He barely matched. You match much better. And his attitude - so ---- snide. Clearly, he had no work ethic, and no sense that things should be earned. I wanted to leave early almost immediately when I got there."

 _He?_ George's brain said, cruel and unbidden. He knew Alex went both ways but was seeing some woman - what was her name? Elisha? Eliza? Elena? -- but Lafayette never spoke about what relationships he wanted. And George, of course, hardly needed to bring anyone’s life down with his own relationship failures. First Sally, who had more or less humiliated him, and then Martha, who had waited and waited and waited, and finally become fed up with his indecision. So he had gone too much or too little, and furthermore something new in his stomach (new being strong, perhaps unacknowledged on purpose or otherwise) had begin pointing out other suggestions that appeared in his dreams and idle jerk-off sessions.

Lafayette was rich and bored, and George had always assumed, maybe incorrectly --

_\--- he --_

"I'd much rather go on a date with you," Lafayette said, and George hoped that the hiss of his breath wasn't so clear in his microphone as it had been to him. His heart was louder in his ears. "I bet you would be such a gentleman, like you are always. Protecting me from stray Widowmakers who are out for me." Now he was teasing, and George thought perhaps he should have had one or two less beers, or maybe not a single beer in his life.

"I would," he answered, sounding more dumb than he meant too. Of course he would. No asshole would mistreat Lafayette.

In the game, of course.

"You know, you haven't told me about the amazing person who has the complete honor of seeing you all the time," Lafayette added, and George's mouth went very dry, and he now thought there wasn't enough beer in the world for it, "Because that person better be taking very good care for you, or I shall come for them and be very upset with them for you. They better be making you excellent coffee and dinner, and holding you very closely at night."

"Uh," he said, and cleared his throat, and suddenly the silence seemed very strange.

"Unless that is something we should not discuss," Lafayette said, very quickly, and George imagined him staring at the computer, wondering where he had gone wrong.

"Uh, no, it isn't --- there isn't -- I make my own coffee."

"Oh," Lafayette answered, and then his ear crackled with the sound of what must have been his friend trying to pull together his own e-composure, "Why not? I don't think there's anyone more eligible than you."

"I'm ... bad at relationships."

It sounded even dumber when he said it. Maybe time to sign off for the night, his brain said. You could further make a fool of yourself, or maybe completely overstep your boundaries and sound like a disgusting creep. Presuming you hadn't managed one of those things already, or maybe all three.

"Nonsense," Lafayette said, quietly, "You are not bad at anything."

At this George could do nothing but offer a dry, sarcastic laugh.

"That was not a joke!" Lafayette protested.

"I don't really talk about falling on my face to a lot of people."

"Well, as far as I'm concerned you are perfect," Lafayette said, and he was put-out now. George liked it a bit too much, when he made the pouting voice, and he could imagine Lafayette sticking his lip out a bit, his gorgeous eyes fake-sad.

"Well, that makes one," George said. He took two long, cool gulps of beer. It was too late for beer and he needed it. There was a pause, and George finally quit out of the Overwatch client and began to turn off his extra monitors, leaving the wireless headset on as he moved from the computer station to the dining room, where an unopened pile of mail sat. He opened the first one to distract himself.

"You may never talk to me again if you'd like," Lafayette said, and George's eyes was momentarily pulled away from top one - Thank you for your donation to Swords to Plowshares! - to stare into some middle space, imagining Lafayette sitting across the table from him, wringing his hands and looking anxious. Finally Lafayette took a breath, audible in his headset, and spoke again, "I think you would be a better date."

George put the mail down and stared without looking at the pile. "I'm a terrible date," he replied, tonelessly.

"We have already gone on lots of dates on the internet."

"Playing Overwatch is not a date."

"Why not? Because we don't fuck at the end?"

"Lafayette," George said, his voice rising without his consent.

"We'd fuck at the end of our real date," Lafayette said, and it came out like a wave, not quite restrained, "I'd like to. I mean, if you would. Obviously we wouldn't -- if you didn't -- I don't know if you---" And now faster, like snow spilling down a hill. " --But I do, and you -- I would, if you wanted -- god the things I'd do to you -- you would like it so much, I'd try so hard to make you -- I'm sorry, I know that we're just, and you're, but ---"

There was the click of Lafayette disconnecting from the server.

"Come back!" George said, helplessly, into his headset. He stood up from the chair so quick so he toppled it without noticing, but he could right it later. For now he ripped the headset off and went desperately for his phone, charging on his nightstand. Lafayette in his Top Friends --

His FaceTime rung.

Twice, and again, and again.

He hung up and tried again. And a third time.

Thankfully, on the fourth try Lafayette's wide face flickered onto the screen. He didn't make eye contact, and held the phone at an odd angle, like the thousand miles of real distance between them wasn't enough.

"Lafayette," George said, and finally he caught the brown pupils and black irises of his eyes. He swallowed back the horrible ball of fear which had appeared inside his chest at the same time the words had appeared in his mind. He was always valued for his initiative at work; Lafayette always said he was courageous and heroic.

"Tell me," he said, to the screen, and walked into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. Lafayette focused more completely on him. His eyes were red.

"What?" Lafayette said, weakly.

"What you'd do," he said, and it was an effort, to tear it from his throat, but he had to. "Tell me what you'd do. After our date. When we fucked."

Lafayette stared at him, and his face was righted in FaceTime. He swallowed and looked at George, and then around, and then swallowed again, gathering his confidence. Funny, George thought in some distant way, that there could be so much electricity between him and the square sight of his friend's face, thousands of miles away. The France sun was well in the process of rising, and here it was just about midnight. Lafayette was in what he liked to call his home base, and if George looked past Lafayette's face - like he ever would want to - he could see the brilliant blue sky and the rural countryside where he lived and George couldn't pronounce the name of it.

"I'd," Lafayette started, and then faltered, and let his hand drop, and George stared at the edge of his shirt, and he could see just a hit of dark skin between it and the low-hanging pajama pants. Easy to imagine now, what it might feel like. Soft and firm all at once.

"Lafayette," he said, dropping his voice a note lower, because something in him told him to do just that.

He was greeted with the most beautiful sound he had ever heard then, offscreen: a ragged little moan, a half-gasp. It was so sweet and so perfect that George almost dropped his phone as well, but recovered at the last moment, and then clipped his phone into the device Lafayette had sent him, which allowed him to sit on the edge of his bed and FaceTime Lafayette without his hands.

("You need that to hold your hammer, you can't be always cramping from holding this to look at my face," Lafayette had explained.)

There was the sound of footsteps and Lafayette came back into view. His face was different, eyes half-lidded, chewing his lip in his mouth. The camera shook in Lafayette's hand, and then they were moving from one room to another, and finally Lafayette clipped his own phone into the matching thing and finally got the confidence to look back at him.

"What would you do?" George asked again. His mouth seemed to know the situation best of him, which was just as well.

"I would kiss you forever," Lafayette said, and it was intoxicating to be watched like this, the way Lafayette did, "God,I want to know your mouth, every inch of it. I want your tongue in my mouth. I want to trace your jaw with my tongue and I would kiss that broad neck of yours and every other part of you." A beat; George let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Take your shirt off."

"What?" he asked.

Lafayette blinked at him with new intensity. It was like nothing he'd had before. "Your shirt, mon cheri. Take it off." George's hands went to the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Lafayette made the most beautiful hiss. "Ah, god," he continued, and he reached out and then clenched his fists, as if to remember, "I would touch all of you. Memorize you. With my fingers, with my tongue. So slow too. Make you wait so much. You probably aren't very talkative during foreplay but I at least hope you would make a little moans for me -- little gasps and sharp breaths -- I want to feel your heart beating under my skin. I'd bite you a little, not too hard, but-- I just want ---" Another hitched breath, and Lafayette looked down at his lap, and George leaned in, wondering.

"Like this?" he said, and Lafayette's eyes were drawn back to him, and he shifted the mount so Lafayette could watch him trace a hand down his bare chest.

"Oh, like that," Lafayette whimpered, and lightning raced down George's spine. He wasn't usually into foreplay, and if someone had presented him this situation last week, or even this morning, he would have stared them into humiliation. But right now, at this very moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to be caressing his own stomach with the sound of Lafayette's moans in the background. He could almost imagine it might be Lafayette, sitting in his lap, touching him with his characteristic eagerness.

"What else would you do?" he asked.

Lafayette visibly shuddered and refocused. "I would --" A gulp of a breath, "--I would spread you on your bed. Open your legs so I could sit between them. Take off your underwear and your pants and just stare at you because I've wanted all the time to stare at you. And when I was finished staring I would touch you everywhere but your cock, which I"m sure is the most gorgeous dick anyone has ever had, ever."

"Tease," he retorted, but it was without condemnation. His hands went, guided by Lafayette's vision, to the waistline of his boxers, which he wiggled out of with some effort, not even caring what it must have looked like. Jesus, he couldn't ever remember the last time he was this hard. The last time he had been with anyone, there had been pills, attempts at solutions, stopping and starting.

No problem-solving required at this juncture. He laughed, breathlessly, thinking about it.

"Let me see," Lafayette said, and he looked up from where he was staring at his dick curving against his stomach to Lafayette in his phone. Lafayette had taken off his shirt. Christ, Lafayette was chiseled muscle and George had never felt such a wave of pure, animalistic lust. He wanted to throw himself through the phone and touch every curve and valley of that stomach.

He adjusted the mount so Lafayette could see him, naked with his hands stroking his thighs, like Lafayette wanted to do, like he wanted Lafayette to do to him.

"Fuck," Lafayette said, and he covered his face with his hands, and then pulled them away, "You're a vision, George. I knew you had the most gorgeous dick ever. You can hardly know what I want to do to it. I want you to choke me with it. I want to ride it until I can't sit up. I want you to bend me over the bed and rail me until I beg you for more."

"Yeah," George agreed, because it was hard to make any kind of comprehensive argument when the most amazing person he had ever met was expressing his explicit fantasies. His hand found his dick without trying, and even without lube there was something perfectly wonderful and sharp about the friction.

"Lube, I want you to feel good, I'd make you feel good," Lafayette said, and George reached into his bedside table and used his fumbling fingers. "I would make you feel so good. I would let you open me up as much as you wanted, if you wanted my tight ass around you I wouldn't mind, if you wanted me to be so loose I could slide right on we could do that, shit, I just---"

"Yeah, if you were here, it would be so nice to be inside you, I bet you'd be so hot for me," George replied, and now it felt even better, slick and warm from his hand, his strokes unsteady with the unfamiliar lust.

"So hot," Lafayette agreed, and then he reached up and adjusted the mount to his phone, and George could see that he had pushed the sweatpants down and had one hand stroking his cock distractedly and the other with two fingers in his ass. "So hot and so tight for you, and I'd ride you as long as you wanted, until you came in my ass, and dripped down and you could feed it to me---"

"You're disgusting," George said, and it was also the hottest thing he had ever heard in his life, and furthermore everything he said sounded so magnificent that he was more than ready to feed a man come and lube and sweat if he wanted, if it was Lafayette.

"I want to be disgusting for you," Lafayette replied, and he pushed his fingers deeper into himself, and George could see most of it, even despite their distance. "I want to be everything for you, I never -- but -- I always -- wanted you. But I thought that you --- that I was more like a son."

"Shit, whatever." Ineloquent, but who could be graceful with your dick throbbing in your hand and your eyes glued to the spot where your internet-friend's fingers swallowed by the tight ring of his hole? "Don't stop talking and don't stop thinking that's me inside you. I'm getting so deep and I'm so thick."

"I've never felt so full," Lafayette choked, "But I want more of you, I need more of you, please fuck me harder."

"I'm going to pound you so hard you can't walk straight for a week."

"Yes, I want it that hard, I want you so hard, please, George, please fuck me, fucking pound me, fucking ram me."

He came with a gasp across his stomach, spurting between his fingers, everything going white-hot. He fell back against the bed, trying to get enough air back into his lungs, when it seemed that might be impossible now. He would never breathe properly again after an orgasm like that, and even more that it had come from his own hand. He jerked off enough. It was not like that.

"George," Lafayette said, in the most incredible whine, "I need to come, please, I'm so fucking close, I want to come all over myself for you, because of you, but I----"

With an immense effort, George hauled himself back to what could loosely be called sitting. He popped the phone out of the mount, cradling it with shaking hands and nodded into the camera. "Yeah, I want you to come all over yourself for me, right now."

It took just that, and Lafayette was shaking and groaning, momentarily disappearing off the camera.

"Hey," George said, the lightbulb of inspiration going on, "Yeah, now eat it all up on my fingers, you hungry slut."

He hadn't meant to say it but Lafayette moaned off-screen, "Of course," he said, in a breathless voice.

"Where I can see you," he said, and forced the growl.

Lafayette pulled himself back into the camera's eye and swept his come off his stomach and brought his hand to his mouth. This morning he would have been nauseated at the imagining of the sight, but right now he was certain nothing had even been more beautiful.

When he was done, Lafayette wiped his hands on his sweatpants and pulled them back up, taking the phone from the mount and looking at him with the familiar tender affection no one else had for him. "I hope that was not..."

"No, that was good," he agreed, because how else could you say you hadn't come that hard in years, and that was from only your hand?

"So then we'll play tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Same as always."

Lafayette nodded, and put the phone down, and George heard the sound of blankets. A good idea, he thought, and wiped the come off his stomach with his shirt before throwing the item towards his basket of laundry. It would be disgusting in the morning, both him and the shirt, but right now he was not in any way in the mood to care.

"Hey," Lafayette said, from his phone. He looked into it.

"Hey," George said, and smiled.

"I bet you're a good cuddler." There was a pause, because George did not have it in him to deny. "I would take your powerful arms around me and press my face into your chest and see how good you smell. Like sweat and sex and me."

"I would hold you," George said, instead, and tried to imagine what it might be like to have Lafayette's form in his hands. Muscular and soft all at once. Warm. He smiled at the thought. "Until you fell asleep."

"Wouldn't be long," Lafayette murmured, already half there, "Come to France so I can."

"I don't speak French."

'"I will be there next week, then. _Bonne nuit._ "

The call ended before George could deny, which meant that such a thing was going to happen whether he liked it or not. It was very good, then, that he was almost certain that he would. He had never disliked anything else Lafayette had ever done, after all.

He dreamed of a strong stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> for context: washington's character: [reinhardt](http://overwatch.gamepedia.com/File:Reinhardt-portrait.png); lafayette's character: [ana](http://overwatch.gamepedia.com/File:Ana.png); alex's character: "zenny" [zenyatta](http://overwatch.gamepedia.com/File:Zenyatta-portrait.png).


End file.
